Attack of the Frilly Pink Monster
by Raphshell
Summary: In which Leonardo becomes overly dramatic. Pretty pink things are tools of the devil.


Warning: This story contains turtlecest. Nothing explicit.

Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own them.

This was to be his doom; yes it was in fact the worst possible thing on the face of the planet that could have happened to him. A million asteroids, littered with germs and viruses of infectious diseases, hurling through outer space and simultaneously crashing into his room at once would have been a more welcoming outcome than this monstrosity glaring, and outright mocking him.

There it was, in all its pink frilly glory, complete with ribbons, bows and glitter. It was as if the DNA of a Cinderella nightmare gone badly somehow crossbred with Little Bo Peep from hell.

Afraid of what horrible infection he may acquire from allowing his fingers to touch the silky fabric, Leonardo withdrew a katana and contemplated hurling his weapon at the hideousness, to ensure that it was in fact dead and not waiting for the prime opportunity to lash out and begin gnawing on his head.

Never taking his eyes off of the enemy, Leonardo instead opted to throw something a little less damaging, lest it anger the beast. He retrieved a balled up sock off of the floor (though he was puzzled as to why there was a sock in his room to begin with as he didn't even own a pair) and gave a light over hand toss towards the devil's spawn.

The relatively quiet impact of the sock left little more than a few ripples in the fabric which after a few seconds, became still once again. However, Leonardo waited. He wasn't a stupid turtle, and knew that he was to never let his guard down with the enemy, no matter how seemingly innocent he, she or in this case, it may be.

Leonardo squinted his eyes as he spied what appeared to be a white, square envelope trapped in the layered pink folds of the demon in question. Wondering what type of message his enemy would be trying to convey to him in the form of mail, he couldn't help but desperately wish for Donatello's help. He was positive his brother had probably invented something such as a long stick with a grabbing claw mechanism for this type of an emergency.

With all the ninja stealth he could muster, Leonardo ever so carefully inched his way forward, weapon at the ready, until he found himself staring the beast in the face, or where he imagined its face would be if it had one.

Tense, Leonardo slowly wiggled his fingers (much like he had seen in westerns the moment before the cowboys drew their guns), readying himself to grab the envelope and disarm his opponent if need be.

With a lightning quick snatch, Leonardo obtained the message, and quickly darted out of reach as the image of the beast happily gnawing away on one of his vital body parts was still fresh in his memory.

Carefully unfolding the message, which he fully expected to be written in blood, Leonardo was surprised to find a Valentine's Day card in all its horrifying pink, sparkly glory. At least it matched the monstrosity before him. A grey kitten, sporting some wicked dilated pupils he guessed was supposed to be cute, but rather looked stoned of out its tiny kitten mind, was affectionately hugging a glittered filled heart on its cover. Within this card was a heartfelt letter from his dear Michelangelo explaining why he had placed this garment in his bedroom, and what exactly he wanted Leonardo to do with it. And just to make it extra clear for him, Michelangelo had included at the end of the letter a not so subtle reminder as to why Leonardo could not back down from his request.

Three weeks ago, Michelangelo had straight out told Leonardo, that if he were to aid him in indulging in his fantasy, which included whips and chains, then Leonardo would have to submit to whatever fantasy Mike wanted in return. He then made Leonardo swear on his ninja honour, knowing that his brother would never back down from such a promise.

As he finished the letter, his hand fell limply to his side; and a deathly cold fear struck his heart, as if someone had taken the liberty of relentlessly impaling with a razor sharp icicle.

The card and letter fell ungracefully out of his hand and landed at his feet with the evil, stoned kitten staring up at him mockingly. Leonardo glanced down at it, mesmerized by Michelangelo's loopy, playful penmanship, and found himself wishing that it had turned out to be a blood written letter of evil threatening him with his inevitable death.

Leonardo wondered why fate had taken this cruel, sharp turn of event. Did he have bad karma? Of all the things in the world he could have faced, why, why, why was it this? Did his lover hate him so? Had he done something to hurt Michelangelo? And was this his punishment? He would have been more comfortable if his father blatantly asked to sit in and watch one of his and Mike's sexual encounters. A million questions raced through the turtle's mind, yet no good answer came to him.

Leonardo took careful steps toward his doom, praying to whoever may be listening, for some type of horrific disaster to strike at that precise moment. Having their home destroyed by mousers once again would be a pleasant relief. Better yet, it would have been real nice for the Ultimate Drako to show up again with the Time Sceptre and whisk him off to some alternate reality where people didn't deem it necessary to produce such hideous garments, and then expect others to actually wear them.

There he stood, face to face with the…ugh…dress that he was expected to wear. Thank god Raph, Don and Splinter were out today, or he would never live this down if they caught him.

Leonardo made a mental note to himself to never again swear on his honour for anything that Michelangelo may ask. Carefully, he grasped the thick folds of pink silk, and pulled it down off of its hanger, the dress pooling on the floor, leaving a gaping hole barely large enough for him to step into.

Deep breath and step.

So far, so good.

Deep breath and other foot.

Okay, still living.

Leonardo pulled the massive, pink frilliness up over his hips, and stuck his arms through the holes. As he tried his best to wiggle his way into the tight dress, he saw with utter horror that the full skirt below responded with a graceful swish. Oh god it actually swished. Leonardo mentally smacked Michelangelo in the head for getting him into this.

As he managed to pull the fabric up high enough on his arms to cover himself, he realized that there was no possible way the dress was ever going to zip up in the back over his large shell. However, that wasn't the only problem. Leonardo soon discovered the tightness of the fabric had restricted his arms to the point where his shoulders were being pulled forward, and he was unable to move his upper arms. Leonardo ineffectively tried to flail his arms, only to discover how stupid he looked with his lower arms swinging in a useless karate chop motion.

That determined it. He was going to kill Michelangelo.

Oh god, maybe this was actually the handiwork of Shredder. What if he had discovered their home and had his Foot soldiers plant this spawn of Satan dress in his room? What if the dress had evil plans to devour him while wearing it, as he remained helplessly stuck inside? It would be the perfect crime. Eaten alive by his own dress.

Leonardo angrily grumbled to himself as walked to his bedroom door and made a sad attempt at opening it as he was unable to raise upper arm. Finally, he had to stand on his tip toes, and slightly lean backward to get a good grasp on the doorknob.

Leonardo knew that there was no way he could have possibly felt more stupid or out of place as he trotted down the hall, arms permanently stuck forward as if he had suddenly metamorphosed into the living dead, and skirt swishing in all it swishy glory.

He arrived at Michelangelo's door, turned sideways, and used his shell to knock on the door.

"Come in" his brother called through the door.

Leonardo once again leaned back as he stood on his tip toes to grasp and turn the doorknob. He pushed the door open, and before he could register what was going on, a blinding light flashed, leaving him momentarily blinded and dumbfounded.

That's when the roaring laughter came. From all three brothers.

"Pay up dudes! I told you I could get him to wear it!" Michelangelo exclaimed.

"Well worth every cent" Raphael happily complied.

"Looking good Leo" Donatello cheered.

'_Revenge will be sweet'_ Leonardo thought.

~ End ~


End file.
